in consequence it became greener, and now is
blacker than ever yours will be."

"Well, if I and my landlady have this morning used an ounce, we've used
a quarter of a pound of soft soap in"----

"Soft soap!--soft soap!" cried out the gentleman, with an air of sudden
alarm--"That explains all," (he forgot how well it had been already
explained by him.) "By Heavens, sir!--soft soap! You may have ruined
your hair forever!" Titmouse opened his eyes and mouth with a start of
terror, it not occurring to his astute mind that the intolerable green
had preceded, not followed, the use of the soft soap. "Go home, my dear
sir! God bless you--go home, as you value your hair; take this small
bottle of DAMASCUS CREAM, and rub it in before it's too late; and then
use the remainder of the"----

"Then you don't think it's already too late?" inquired Titmouse,
faintly; and, having been assured to the contrary--having asked the
price of the Damascus cream, which was "_only_ three-and-sixpence,"
(stamp included)--he purchased and paid for it with a rueful air, and
took his departure. He sneaked homeward along the streets with the air
of a pickpocket, fearful that every one he met was an officer who had
his eye on him. He was not, in fact, very far off the mark; for many a
person smiled, and stared, and turned round to look at him as he went
along.

CHAPTER VI.

Titmouse slunk up-stairs to his room in a sad state of depression, and
spent the next hour in rubbing into his hair the Damascus cream. He
rubbed till he could hardly hold his arms up any longer, from sheer
fatigue. Having risen at length to mark, from the glass, the progress he
had made, he found that the only result of his persevering exertions had
been to give a greasy shining appearance to the hair, which remained
green as ever. With a half-uttered groan he sank down upon a chair, and
fell into a sort of abstraction, which was interrupted by a sharp knock
at his door. Titmouse started up, trembled, and stood for a moment or
two irresolute, glancing fearfully at the glass; and then, opening the
door, let in--Mr. Gammon, who started back a pace or two, as if he had
been shot, on catching sight of the strange figure of Titmouse. It was
useless for Gammon to try to check his laughter; so, leaning against the
door-post, he yielded to the impulse, and laughed without intermission
for nearly a couple of minutes. Titmouse felt desperately angry, but
feared to show it; and